Verse, Chorus, Verse
by massivelyattacked
Summary: A planned series of vignettes inspired by Massive Attack – obviously the band behind my pen name. I will update this with new pieces on occasion. Hawke/Anders... New and improved! Now with Fenris & Varric & Justice...oh my!
1. Protection

**A planned series of vignettes interlaced with lyrics by Massive Attack – obviously the band behind my pen name.**

**I caught some lyrics in a song by Massive Attack the other day that immediately set my mind thinking about how I could work them into some story telling of my mage Hawke and Anders. I decided to have another listen to more of the band's songs and found loads of applicable lines…so there you have it. Song fics overload!**

**Honestly, I'm trying a second playthrough as a Chantry supporter/mage-neutral warrior, and it's hard not to fall for that crazy man again. Until I break that barrier, you'll be getting a lot of Anders-centric stories.**

**Characters from the DA universe are the property of Bioware/EA.**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Protection<em>**

_This girl I know needs some shelter  
>She don't believe anyone can help her<em>

The moment he laid eyes on her, he knew she would be trouble. The feisty redheaded woman that stood in the doorway of his Darktown clinic, all but demanding that he hand over some old maps of the Deep Roads from his time with the Wardens. She reminded him so much of the elven mage that rose up to become the Warden Commander. But that was another time…a lifetime ago. This was now, and Anders was staring down what looked to be a bunch of mercenaries, led by the woman.

_She's doing so much harm, doing so much damage  
>But you don't want to get involved<br>You tell her she can manage  
>And you can't change the way she feels<br>But you could put your arms around her_

He is slightly perturbed by her assumptive nature at first. She demands the maps for an expedition underground – for money, no doubt. He knows her type. Anders refuses outright. The raven-haired man beside her becomes visibly upset, stepping forward angrily.

"Listen here, _mage_," he begins, but is silenced as the woman gently places her hand on his arm. The man looks at her and she shakes her head slowly at him. There is no anger. She does not attempt to blackmail him with threats to turn him over to the templars. She simply steps forward towards Anders with pleading eyes and tells him that it could help a lot of people.

_I know you want to live yourself  
>But could you forgive yourself<br>If you left her just the way  
>You found her<em>

After brief contemplation, Anders sees his opportunity to make this about helping people – specifically a friend in the Circle. He presents the idea of freeing his mage friend to the woman, and she hesitates briefly.

"You want me to fight templars?" she questions, and in that moment, Anders recognizes her hesitation – she is also an apostate. His mind begins to wander, wondering if she has ever been in the Circle herself. But before his thoughts take him too far, she tells him she will help his friend with no further questions asked.

With details exchanged, Anders knows that this will be a potentially dangerous task, but he will have support. And should it be needed, he would be able to return that favour.

_I stand in front of you  
>I'll take the force of the blow<br>Protection_

* * *

><p><em><em>_You're a boy and I'm a girl  
>But you know you can lean on me<em>

The eldest Hawke sibling stands in the Chantry beside her new acquaintance, though not nearly as dumbfounded as he over the fact that the man he has come to rescue from the grips of the templars has actually been used to entrap him. Her grip tightens around her staff, sensing the conflict to come. She feels no regret for agreeing to this task.

Her mind is full of empathy for the blond mage and his friend, now tranquil – presumably for his attempts to escape the confines of the Circle in Kirkwall. Nevertheless, the rumours have run rampant that the Knight Commander has been making mages tranquil for less reason than that. Anders is devastated over the loss of his friend.

Tranquility can be – for some – a fate worse than death itself, and for those around them, mourning occurs long before the body ever grows cold. Never one to back down from a fight – especially against an injustice such as this – she surveys the group of templars that are encircling them. She will fight for the tranquil. And she will fight for the healer.

_And I don't have no fear  
>I'll take on any man here<br>Who says that's not the way it should be_

As she readies her own abilities, Anders explodes into a furious rage – a strange blue light emitting from his body. His eyes in particular are terrifying. He moves as if possessed by some unseen force, violently cutting through foes with magic that no healer should know.

It is in that very instant that she realizes this man has more struggles hidden just beneath the outer layer than he has let on. She does not know yet what they are – or even if she can help, but she vows to try.

_I stand in front of you  
>I'll take the force of the blow<br>Protection._

* * *

><p><em><em>_Sometimes you look so small, need some shelter  
>Just runnin' round and round, helter skelter<em>

The years have not been kind to Anders. She recognizes that he is sinking into his own personal anguish, further every day. He is losing his grip on reality – and on his own life. Justice is consuming him. Still, she does not falter. She remains steadily at his side, with hope. With support. Regardless, he is beginning to come apart at the seams, and she is not certain how much longer she will be able to hold him together.

_And I've leaned on you for years  
>Now you can lean on me<br>And that's more than love, that's the way it should be_

He charges her with one further task – gather the materials required for a concoction to try to drive Justice out of his no longer willing host. Old Tevinter research, he said. And despite the oddness of the request to distract the Grand Cleric for a few moments, she agrees, for he has never given her reason to suspect before.

He is on edge…distant. But she is there, as always, to comfort him.

_Now I can't change the way you feel  
>But I can put my arms around you<em>

A series of events have been set into motion that will force a choice – from everyone.

A rumble – an explosion – destruction.

Worlds collide.

_That's just part of the deal  
>That's the way I feel<br>I'll put my arms around you_

For her, the choice is easy. The choice was made that crucial night in the Chantry when she witnessed first-hand the fury and vengeance of Justice; and the cruelty of the templars that exposed him within Anders. The alternative is non-existent. There is no other option.

_I stand in front of you  
>I'll take the force of the blow<br>Protection  
><em>

* * *

><p>Selected lyrics in italics from "Protection" (Robert Del Naja, Grant Marshall, Andrew Vowles and Tracey Thorn) by Massive Attack, 1995.<p> 


	2. Angel

_**Angel**_

_You are my angel  
><em>_Come from way above  
><em>_To bring me love_

She is always there by my side. I ask myself why day after day. Why this woman…this compassionate splendor would choose me to stand with. Maybe it is out of pity. She has seen me at my best and worst, and still, she remains.

I never pushed for this. It took every fiber of my being to bury the overwhelming intensification of my feelings for her. And when she teased…oh, Maker…how did I resist? I cannot recall. Justice believes it is all intentional…a ruse to misguide me from my path. I know better. She has a naivety about her that suggests her inexperience in affairs of the heart. She doesn't know what she's done to me.

The simple curl of a lip upwards, in appreciation of a lighthearted remark. The way she always rushes ahead of the rest of us, to be the frontline against some unseen adversary. The hypnotic sashay of her all too perfect hips; no matter how many times I'm caught staring. I sometimes wonder if she can feel me looking at her that way. My thoughts turn dark, and I pray to come across no demon of desire when she is in my presence. My yearning for her is so overpowering that I fear even Justice would be exorcised from within me should such an encounter occur.

The reasons I have fallen for her are clear. But what is frightening is her other side – the one that hides until she is provoked. The chilling thing is that I love that more.

_Her eyes  
><em>_She's on the dark side_

There is no mistaking her on the battlefield. She flies like a furious angel of retribution, cutting through those who have wronged her. Those who dare to spit in her face. Those who don't know better than to oppose her. She is particularly vicious towards those who seek to oppress mages. Only then is Justice satisfied with her presence. She is his ally. My partner.

She is the definitive juxtaposition of beauty and brutality. She leaves in her wake a trail of devastation and magnificence. Yet, she is not without mercy. The ones who seek redemption – in sincerity – are always spared…given a second chance. But there have been those who have been allowed safe passage before and then double-crossed her. They know no forgiveness.

Watching her in combat is like watching a painter create a work of art. Hearing a musician play a composition for the first time. She is an artist at work – mana flowing from her core to her appendages. Magic springing from her fingertips. Flashes of light and intense sound. She creates a masterpiece of annihilation – and it is brilliant.

_Neutralize  
><em>_Every man in sight  
><em>

All fall at her feet – collapsing in death, or pleading for life.

No one can stop her.

She is my angel._  
><em>

* * *

><p>Lyrics in italics from "Angel" (Robert Del Naja, Grant Marshall, Andrew Vowles and Horace Hinds) by Massive Attack, 1998.<p> 


	3. Safe From Harm

_**Safe From Harm**_

Another night in Darktown…another group of templars to lose. They've been trailing me all too frequently of late. They had been daring to try that with Hawke too. Stupid move on their part, if you ask me. She would tear right through them if she was forced to. Even with the spirit within me, a small part of _me_ gets such joy out of that. Still, it pains me to have to think that she will no doubt be confronted by them at a time when I cannot help to protect her. Stop thinking of her, you ass!

Back in Ferelden, the Circle…it was…different than what I can guess this one in Kirkwall is like. Maker, it's been over three years since that night, yet I will never forget the terrified look in Karl's eyes for those brief moments of awareness. That will stay with me until the grave. In Ferelden, the Rite of Tranquility was a last resort – used only for those mages who most obviously had the potential to be in league with demons. Despite all my attempts to escape, they never threatened me with that. Not outwardly, at least. I wasn't about to stick around long enough to let them consider having that discussion with me. Ha! As if there'd be one.

Here? I'd have been made tranquil faster than that Starkhaven ex-prince rescinded his Chantry vows. Hmm…I should try that line the next time I'm with the dwarf. He'd definitely like that.

I stop. No footfalls. I look back – are they still there? The shadows play tricks on me. They never play fair.

_I was lookin' back to see  
>If you were lookin' back at me<br>To see me lookin' back at you_

I am on the surface streets now. I'm not sure if Lowtown is more or less dangerous than Darktown, but either way, I am always on my guard. I am on my way to her home. I have an excuse. Some poultices to deliver – new stock. I wonder if she sees through my deception. I suspect that she does. She is a bit of a healer herself, and rarely needs to use these. But it doesn't matter. They will be tossed to the side in a matter of seconds anyway, in favour of some other conversation. To discuss some other poor sot that has crossed her path today that needs her help. Or maybe she's discovered a new spell. It matters not. She could lament about the fact that she killed a fly and felt bad about it – I would still be riveted. Hanging on to every word as a child clings to a favourite toy.

It is perhaps for this reason that the spirit denies approval of her. At first I did not understand why it would not, for she is like me. She is a mage. Someone who we are fighting for. I find myself having to push out thoughts of 'distraction' and 'fixation' more frequently however, and recognize this as the spirit's influence. I can feel appreciation…gratitude when she speaks out for us all; when a mage who would not be worth another's second glance catches her eye, and her good deeds. I know those as the spirit's feelings as well. It does acknowledge the good she does, but wishes my desire for her would wane. I suppose in some ways, I wish the same. How can I truly fight for my convictions when I would gladly give my life for her? Such a lesser cause…

Wait…why would I say that? She is worth my death. I wince. The spirit seems to be winning these days.

My thoughts return to her safety. After all, her wellbeing fits nicely into the grand scheme of things. She must survive all this. She will be the symbol of mage freedom that I cannot be – she embodies all that is good about us. I could never be seen as that icon…not now. Oh Maker, there I go. I'm gushing over her again. _Focus, Anders!_ Maybe the spirit is right. Maybe she does consume too much of me.

Either way, the thought of her coming to harm overwhelms me. Which means that the spirit may also feel the same way. Perhaps that will be what galvanizes us to put our final plan into action.

_But if you hurt what's mine  
>I'll sure as hell retaliate<em>

I am in Hightown now. I have almost directly crossed paths with more templars. Their presence has almost certainly been increased. I see Aveline's guardsmen patrolling the streets on fewer nights. The Circle mages are uneasy. There have been rumours that they are being made tranquil for merely looking at a templar the wrong way. This cannot be happening. I cannot allow this. My brothers and sisters do not deserve this.

Some day, they will regret this oppression. The templars, the Chantry… They will see what happens when you push mages to the brink. Blood magic is only one method of reacting. I will show them another.

But yet, I cannot get her out of my mind. I once thought that being made tranquil was a fate worse than death. I'm no longer sure of that. _Her_ death would be worse. I would do anything to prevent it. I would give up everything. I would…become tranquil.

Tonight I will tell her how I feel.

I have arrived. She opens the door. She is smiling. She is safe.

_You can free the world, you can free my mind  
>Just as long as my baby's safe from harm tonight<em>

* * *

><p>Lyrics in italics from "Safe From Harm" (Robert Del Naja, Grant Marshall, Andrew Vowles, Shara Nelson, Billy Cobham and John McLaughlin) by Massive Attack, 1991.<p> 


	4. Mezzanine

**Ta da! A Fenris song fic! ****Managed to finish a playthrough with my Chantry chica and she loved her some Fenris. Enjoy…**

**Oh, and my apologies in advance if this got wonky somewhere in the middle. I was writing along nicely and then became disillusioned with the results of the Canadian federal elections tonight…boo Canada. You're sucking ass right now, and I can't make a happy ending! :( But I digress…on with the story!**

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><p><strong><em>Mezzanine<em>**

_I'm a little curious of you in crowded scenes  
>And how serene your friends and fiends<em>

The elf is not the most inconspicuous of creatures. His thin, agile body would appear to move with grace were it not for his paranoia-induced erratic motions. The hair on his head gives the appearance of perpetually being bathed in moonlight – no matter the time of day. The penetrating green eyes that hide underneath that fringe could paralyze a man and steal his soul. Least understated are the strands of lyrium, netting his body like a fly landed in some spider's deadly trap.

Yet for all his peculiarities, few pay him mind when he roams the streets. It is as if he is a ghost, floating through the crowds of Kirkwall unnoticed. Though this ghost is perceived by one, and he haunts her thoughts constantly.

There is always calm over him. A composure that he maintains despite the obvious anger he stores within the pit of his being – at least until it benefits him to be liberated. But tonight he is restrained. He glides through the night beside his companions. In search of…something, though she does not know what. What does one search for when they have finally gained their freedom?

_We flew and strolled as two…eliminated gently  
>Why don't you close your eyes and reinvent me<em>

Confrontation.

She watches his blade effortlessly cut a path through the night air and a blood mage as if they are one and the same. He and she execute a dance of brutality – felling their enemies with grace and sophistication. Their footwork is matched; the timing perfect. A melody rings out as steel collides with steel.

Sweat drips. Eyes meet. And the violence is stayed for the moment. She could be everything he wants. He could be everything she needs. The two retreat to the darkness of the shadows and their hearts.

And despite their hatred for it…there is magic.

_You know you've got that heart made of stone  
>You should have let me know<br>You could have let me know_

Yet he continues to lock her out. Moments shared are brief and fleeting. They meld as one for a time, but it is cold. Vacant. Without love.

She is rejected. Pushed away. He flees into the night, blade at his back. She falters. Waits for something more, but nothing comes. She is empty.

His denial confounds her. She wonders what she did wrong. What more needed to be done…or _could_ anything more be done? The night is replayed until she is catatonic from the memory.

The ghost still haunts her.

_I could be yours  
>We can unwind<br>_

But then he returns to her. An understanding reached in the darkness. He discerns her need to possess him lies in emotion, not power. She will not make him give himself to her, but must give herself to him.

He becomes a willing slave to her whims and desires. He will obey his mistress until his dying day. There is freedom within the chains of this love.

And the equality haunts him.

_All these have flaws  
>All these have flaws<br>All these have flaws  
>Will lead to mine<em>

She accepts all of him. His strength, his weakness, his fear, his worry. The imperfections that belong to him pour into hers and become one.

She knows what he seeks. Exorcism from the ghosts. Acceptance. Liberation. Freedom. Love.

Unconditionally.

* * *

><p>Selected lyrics in italics from "Mezzanine" (Robert Del Naja, Grant Marshall, Andrew Vowles) by Massive Attack, 1998.<p> 


	5. Special Cases

**I was originally going to use this song to refer to one of the romances that one of my versions of Hawke was involved in. But then I read a hugely funny fanfic today, and its author inspired me with her wit (Sarah, I'm looking directly at you!). This might not be straight out humour or parody, but this sort of stuff sure goes through my head when I'm playing with my man crew – and that happens quite frequently.**

**So…hope you enjoy…**

**Bioware/EA owns DA2 & all said characters…yadda yadda yadda…I just own an obsession with them…**

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><p><em><strong>Special Cases<strong>_

_Don't tell your man what he don't do right  
>Nor tell him all the things that make you cry<br>But check yourself for your own shit  
>And don't be making out like it's all his<em>

For the third time in as many days, I decided to bring the dwarf, the elf, and the apostate along with me. Varric was invaluable; no matter where we went, there was always a door that needed to be broken into, or a locked chest full of values untold. Besides, he was typically the one that kept me laughing from morning until night. I couldn't very well leave him behind. Then of course…Fenris was my man-at-arms. I was more likely to snap my staff in two pieces by hitting a thug over the head with it – I couldn't very well keep up with the melee all the time. Despite being the slightest of all of us, he was the heavyweight in the bunch. There was no way I'd leave behind my bodyguard. Oh, and Anders…I mean, he's a _healer_, for crying out loud. My healing is shite at best – we'd all have broken appendages for sure if I left him behind. So no question about it. I needed these men.

I just wish they'd shut up once in awhile.

_Take a look around the world  
>You see such bad things happening<br>There are many good men  
>Ask yourself is he one of them<em>

When it comes down to it, I wonder if they'll stay. Will they be at my side in one of those grand battles to end all battles? Could I picture the four of us walking on to the battlefield…staring down a dragon? Or something. Something dramatic like that. You know, like it _all_ the tales sung by the bards. The four heroes striding across a spectacular plain…as a great storm brews in the distance…when suddenly the clouds open up, revealing the massive body of a high dragon…flames shooting from its tremendous gaping jaws. Hmm…probably another _very good_ reason why I just can't seem to leave Varric behind. Who _else_ would tell the tale?

But alas, most of our days are spent tripping over each other and running into bandits and raiders. A noble enough cause, but it does leave me wanting more. The problem lies in the fact that it leaves a _lot_ of time for these three to get on each others' nerves. None more so than Anders and Fenris. My stomach just churns thinking about how it's always "mages this, slaves that". I mean, I know that Fenris doesn't particularly _like_ mages, but he seems to be able to deal with me just fine. I suspect Anders just isn't his type. And by not his type, I mean _kind of_ an abomination.

And I'd think that with the amount of complaining that Varric tends to do about their cursed volleys back and forth about the mages and slaves, that he would join me in my displeasure. But no…he decides to take it up a notch and instigate them _further_. I don't think I've ever sighed unhappily more in my life. Maker's _breath_! This is getting to be like walking through the city with little children on a rope. Perhaps I should really consider the use of a rope actually. That way I could at least keep track of these impudent whiny brats. And if they didn't behave, I could always _hang_ myself with it.

_The deadliest of sin is pride  
>Make you feel like you're always right<br>But they're always two sides  
>It takes two to make love, two to make a life<em>

They always defer to me! Why can't they just make a bloody decision for themselves for once? I'm tired of being looked to. "What does Hawke think?"…"Hawke, what's your opinion on this cheese?"…"Hawke, tell Fenris to stop brooding in my general direction!"… Okay, that last one wasn't exactly a question. But still! Maybe I should just start feeding them the wrong answers. Or at least the ones that they don't want to hear.

Oh! I know! Merrill has a very extensive knowledge of plants. I'm quite certain I remember a conversation I once had with her about a fuzzy sort of flowering plant that she used to put into her ears when she first moved to the alienage…to drown out the noises at night. I wonder if that would work to drown out these three…? I could always just smile and nod at them. Or maybe just swing my hips a little wider than usual. Hmmm…why haven't I thought about that one before?

Augh! It's enough to make a woman pull her hair out! But would I have it any other way? Of that, I don't know the answer. After all, time after time, they've defended me to exhaustion. Varric has even been knocked out cold several times to allow me the time to heal myself – what a sweetheart that man is! If only he were a little bit taller…or perhaps if I were a little less insistent about my men being at least the same height as me. Maker help me if I ever said _that_ to him though…

I do love them all in their own way…in a manner of speaking.

_Take a look around the world  
>You see such mad things happening<br>There are few good men  
>Thank your lucky stars that he's one of them<em>

Underneath it all, they are good men. And they're mine…for now. A girl can't ask for much more than that, can she?

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><p>Lyrics in italics from "Special Cases" (Robert Del Naja, Neil Davidge, Sinéad O'Connor) by Massive Attack, 2003.<p> 


	6. Paradise Circus

**A bit of internal war between our favourite apostate and his passenger interwoven with song lyrics. This story's been told before by many, but I cannot deny these beautiful lyrics.**

* * *

><p><em>Paradise Circus<em>

(it's unfortunate that when we feel a storm)

So close. I'm so close to finishing. This research has taken years, but finally – I have a solution. It won't be pretty. _Blood will be shed. Retribution. Justice will be had._ I'm tired of living this way. So very tired. I pray to the Maker to take it all away…to free me from this torment. _But the Maker never answers. Punishment is the only answer._

(we can roll ourselves over when we're uncomfortable)

For too long I squandered away my life on meaningless pleasure and dalliances. The flippant flings in the Circle. _What a waste. Pleasure means nothing in a cage._ I long for the days when choices were never hard. _But they are._ Once this choice is made, I don't suppose there will be much left for me. I am the mechanism through which the revolution will arrive. I will be the martyr. _We will be liberated._

(oh well the devil makes us sin)

Is what I am planning erroneous? _No matter…it is necessary. There can be no freedoms without sacrifice._ I know I am not always in control – that there are other…forces…at work. _Yes…a force to be reckoned with. A force of turbulence and insurrection._

(but we like it when we're spinning in his grip)

I am so conflicted. I don't want to bring innocents into this. _But they refused to choose sides. Apathy cannot be tolerated._ I suppose that the indifference they have shown makes it easier. Makes me realize that what will happen is right. _I do not need to be convinced. I am pleased with where this will leave us in our struggle._

(love is like a sin, my love)

_The woman is a distraction._ But she cares for me. I cannot deny the feelings. She has always been there. She'll always be there. _No…I do not know that. She'll never condone this._ But what if she does? What if she decides to help? I cannot allow her to be held responsible for my actions. She cannot be made the scapegoat. _She'll only get in the way._

(for the ones that feel it the most)

I cannot stop thinking about her – what she'll say. What her stance will be on my plans. I cannot divulge everything to her. _She will try to stop me._ No, no. No, I cannot divulge the plans because she can't be so closely involved. She can't be implicated. Not because she would try to stop me. _She is still a distraction._ I love her.

(look at her with her eyes like a flame)

I can't…I just can't let her be too involved with this. But she'll never forgive me if I hide my plans away from her completely. _It shouldn't matter._ But it does. She's a mage. She feels the same about the way we are locked away in fear. _But that doesn't mean she'll help._ She probably will. I'll ask her to help. I have the perfect idea. _It will drive her away if it fails…but no matter. That will get rid of the diversion once and for all._ Dare I gamble with this? _Yes. I must._

(she will love you like a fly will never love you, again)

I risk her trust…her love…everything. _A chance that must be taken._

* * *

><p>Selected lyrics in brackets from "Paradise Circus" (Robert Del Naja, Grant Marshall, Hope Sandoval, Dan Brown and Stew Jackson) by Massive Attack, 2010.<p> 


	7. Flat of the Blade

**I can't really think of a more appropriate scene for this song than the destruction of the Chantry. Every time I listen to this song, it's all I can think of.**

**Bioware/EA owns the DA folks…I only write about them…**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Flat of the Blade<strong>_

_ I'm not good in a crowd  
><em>_I've got skills I can't speak of over there  
><em>_Things I've seen will chase me  
><em>_To the grave_

Clumsy steps are taken through the darkened streets of Lowtown. Mages…templars…onlookers surround. Anger hissed through clenched teeth. Hands tightened into fists…wrapped around staffs and swords. Words spoken with venom…with malice. The threat of extermination is uttered. He has seen the evils that mages can do – but it is when they are forced. When they are _driven_ to such ends. Demons are dealt with – unspeakable horrors are entertained. All they want is freedom.

He no longer waited to grasp at such liberty. He fled from the tower he knew as 'home' for so many years.

And after so many attempts, the chaos that was created allowed his flight to go unnoticed for just long enough.

_Led with your hands tied  
><em>_Fed to the sand flies  
><em>_You stumble the dunes  
><em>_Complain to the moon  
><em>_Back's to the wheel  
><em>_There's granite to shove_

But he will not go back. Not ever.

Death before incarceration. Death before tranquility.

Choices have long since been made – set on a collision course. Forced into corners, the mages turn on their captors. Those on the run fight for their brethren. Put themselves on the line.

No compromise.

No surrender.

_Take it they give it  
><em>_So rivet for rivet  
><em>_I will build for my family  
><em>_A bulletproof love_

He does it for all of them. He does it for himself. But most of all, he does it for her. No freedom is gained without sacrifice. No love can exist without pain. And no love is perfect, but theirs is as close as it might come to being so. And they'll never be safe, but he can make it more difficult for others to harm them. To harm her.

And harm through inaction and indecision is simply the same as striking out against them.

The answer is simple. A staff strikes the ground once.

Twice.

The deed is done.

_How does it feel, the weight of the steel  
><em>_The weight of the steel, the flat of the blade_

Now is the time for justice. He falls to the ground as she stands in front of him. Calls are made for his head. An eye for an eye.

Her hand falls to the dagger at her waist. She unsheathes it…staring at the length of the blade. It dangles uneasily in her hand…as if she means to let it clatter to the ground.

Eyes do not meet – they are focused on the gleam of the cutting edge. Would it slide easily? Would there be resistance? Would he fight back? Would he merely wait to be executed?

_How does it feel to kneel at defeat?  
><em>_To kneel at the feet of the choices you made_

Her eyes finally rest upon him. She weighs her decision internally. He knows she is looking at him now. He tells her he will never be able to explain. And while she does understand, she cannot bring herself to tell him.

Simple words… "I love you…" – "Thank you…"

His choice was made. She must live with it.

Her choice is made. He will die for it.

* * *

><p>Lyrics in italics from "Flat of the Blade" (Robert Del Naja, Grant Marshall, Neil Davidge, Guy Garvey and Damon Albarn) by Massive Attack, 2010.<p> 


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